


The Heart Of The Sound

by Tyranno



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Gen, slight suzuya juuzou/kaneki ken, tw: gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You didn’t see him arrive, so you must have been asleep, but you’re sure it’s the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. "</p><p>An au where Kaneki is caught up earlier, and is given to Mama as a present. Anime-verse</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart Of The Sound

**Author's Note:**

> or, "a farewell to arms". I wanted to try second person.

You didn’t see him arrive, so you must have been asleep, but you’re sure it’s the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. 

He was small, back then. A little thing, thin arms and big eyes that caught all the light. His dark hair caught on his eyelashes when he blinked. His gaze is cautious, but while he is curled in on himself, he doesn’t shiver in fear. He is watching you, and had been for a long time. You think he might be five, or maybe six. 

You open your mouth, and it spreads into a grin of its own accord. You’ve never had a cell mate before. 

There was fear in his deep pooling eyes, but not too much. 

“Who’re you?” You asked, your voice cheerful. 

The boy hesitates, little head jerking back slightly. He opens his mouth and breaths a puff of white into the cold cell. “K-Kaneki Ken.” He says. 

“Kaneki ken. Kaneki ken.” The sounds bounce across your tongue like a rubber ball, skipping through the air. Your grin spreads until it’s pressed up against the side of your face. It’s a delight, the way it catches between your teeth as you end it, the tail end of it snapping your teeth together. “Kaanekii ken! Kanekiii kenn!” 

The boy shrinks back, startled. He’s scared, of course, but you can see it’s far from real fear. He doesn’t try to escape, doesn’t run, doesn’t shout, he doesn’t even move. The boy looks you dead in the eye and is nervous. Laughter bubbles up behind your throat, but it comes out as another “Kaneki keen!” 

You try not to wonder so much about him—about this Kaneki Ken!—after all, what good did wondering ever do you? Mama will decide what to do with him, after all. But you consider what it would be like now, would you perform with him? You think he might waste your Good Boy Points by killing them too quickly, but Mama would see it was his fault. You know that Mama would, and Kaneki-Ken would be punished. 

His leg shuffles and the chain around his ankle rasps against the floor, which startles him. He looks... embarrassed! Another giggle rises up from your chest. 

This Kaneki Ken will be no end of fun. 

 

*

 

You don’t know how long it takes Mama, you never know the time in here. You sometimes wish that between fights you stopped existing, you slipped into a coma and the minutes didn’t give you a second glance. Sometimes, you think you already do. 

But now you have someone here with you, you want to know. You want to know how many sleepless nights it takes for Kaneki Ken’s eyes to darken with purple rings like they have, you want to know how long it takes for his stomach to start rumbling and growling. You want to know how tired he has to get to fall into a restless sleep he doesn’t want. You want to know why he scuffles around like a cornered dog; you want to know what monsters he sees in the spiderwebed shadows. 

My, my, you want to know everything about him! 

Mama comes when he’s fallen into one of his naps. She’s even happier than usual, her smile beaming radiance, her footfalls silent. She presses a finger to her lips, and you cover your mouth with your hands. 

Kaneki Ken doesn’t wake up as the door opens, as Mama gently lifts his arm to her nose. She sniffs, and smiles. 

There’s a sickening crack of bones and Kaneki wakes up screaming. 

His own blood shines in Kaneki’s lashes as he tries to push her away, but his good arm won’t move as fast as his screaming brain, curling as Mama twists and twists. 

The muscle is more reluctant that the bone and rips like thick fabric, piece by piece. Yellow fat is swallowed by a stream of blood as veins tears. Kaneki bats weakly now, trying to curl up like a cockroach, turning his face away from Mama’s ruby hands. He’s coughing and choking on his own sobs, spluttering and gasping as he forgets how to breathe, forgets how to think, feel, and swallow. 

There’s one last crack and the arm is freed. 

Mama holds it to her bosom, cradling it like a baby, drooling as she tastes the blood on her fingers. She is so happy, her eyes gleaming and shinning. She looks down at Kaneki Ken. 

Kaneki ken is curled up like a cockroach, propped against the furthest corner. His hand grasps at the raw flesh, fingers scarlet and twitching. His eyes have lost all haze, brilliant and bright with fear, sharper than ever. 

You think you taste blood and jerk your head up, until you realise you’ve bitten through your lip. You poke your tongue at it, briefly distracted. 

Mama laughs giddily. “Don’t worry my boy! I won’t take another today! Mama knows not to waste such a precious delicacy.” 

Kaneki Ken’s hiccupping sobs echo loudly against the stone, repeating and repeating until your thoughts are drowned out by the harrowing sound. 

 

*

 

You think it’s the next day when you wake up again. 

All thoughts fly out of your head though because Kaneki Ken is re-growing his arm!

You stare. 

The growth is ugly, like a tumour, bulbous and shiny pink. Like a collection of frozen bubbles of flesh. If you stare hard enough, you can almost see it moving, pushing downwards like some kind of plant. Kaneki is slumped against the wall, eyes closed. He doesn’t look alive. 

You are suddenly possessed with a desire to touch it. Your curiosity has always been strong, but you feel like your core is being dragged towards the boy, you want to examine his new arm and watch the new skin darken and dim into old, you want to know—you want to know everything. 

Teeth sink into your wrist. 

You crossed the room without noticing, and Kaneki Ken has buried his teeth into your wrist. 

He is shivering shivering and twitching under you, teeth burying deeper into your flesh with every twist of his head. 

Your blood runs down his chin and mixes like paint with his saliva and streaming tears. He is sobbing around his mouthful, choking on your arm. 

His muscles tense and tug, like he is fighting his jaw to release you, his eyes screwed shut. His teeth grind against your bone as his head jerks back. 

Kaneki opens his mouth in one go, slamming back against the wall, curling around his growing arm. He is shaking as if there is a fight inside his chest, something slamming against his ribs and pounding his bones. 

He’s spluttering like he’s coming up for air, one of his frenzied eyes is black, ghoulish, and searching for you. His gaze latches onto yours. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorryI’m sor-I’m sorry,” He presses against the wall, grimacing. 

You stand, perplexed. You don’t feel you wrist—oh, well, you do, but pain is so commonplace and boring it doesn’t take up your mind—and you wonder if he feels your pain more than you do. All it is to you is the drip-drip of blood staining the dark floor. 

You find your voice. “Are you a ghoul?” 

Kaneki’s streaming eyes widen as he tries to scuffle further back. “No!” He shrieks, “I’m not like you—I’m—I’m human!!” 

You watch him cower like you are some kind of demon, something he doesn’t have a hope against. Perhaps you are, in his eyes. You tilt your head, and your white hair is like mesh over your eyes, obscuring your vision. “I’m human.” You say. 

He whimpers. 

You walk backwards until you can lean on the wall, to watch him from comfort, and perhaps, safety. Your wounded wrist is nestled in the folds of your shirt, but really, you don’t know what to do with it. You don’t know what to do with him. 

There’s a package against the door, brown paper tied with brown string. You snatch it up and slide it over to the heap of Kaneki ken. 

His eyes are magnetically drawn to it the moment he sees it. His shakes grown until he almost splits in two, coughing and snuffling into his good arm. 

In one sharp moment he snatches it up, tears through the paper and stuffs a chunk into his mouth. It’s flesh. Human flesh. 

Kaneki tries to cough it back up, but it won’t come. He gags and tries to reach down his throat, but he can’t. He sobs into his bloody fingers. 

You sit on the floor. 

And watch him. 

 

*

 

Time passes.

You don’t know how much, you can’t use Kaneki as your variable like you’d hoped; he fades into just another constant. You perform well, and Mama seems permanently in high spirits. 

You can see he’s getting worn. He’s been tired for a long time, too many restless nights where he’ll sleep only for a handful of minutes until a footstep or a chink in his chain or nothing at all will rouse him. 

But now his spirit is tired. Mama doesn’t notice, the takes her flesh and leaves him food and otherwise doesn’t look at him. He has been broken in, and his eyes are glassy. He is too tired to cry and has run out of tears. 

It surprises you when he finally talks. 

“Hey,” He says, as you come in from a performance, cleaned and fresh. 

You smile at him, surprised. “Hello, Kaneki Ken.” 

He seems to have regained some of his spark, and he seems eager to talk now, to spill the words that have been aching and clawing at the tight ring of fear around his throat. “Just Kaneki.” 

“Ok.” You sit across from him, legs crossed. You’ve never had a proper conversation; and your mind races at the possibilities. What should you even talk about? You search through your life’s memories, and find nothing even remotely interesting as a topic of conversation. Your life is a thick black streak of paint across a flat black canvas, there is no topic Kaneki won’t already be familiar with. 

In fact, nothing exciting ever happened. Except Kaneki, of course. 

Your eye latch onto his. “Are you—Were you born a ghoul, Kaneki?” you chirp. 

Kaneki shakes his head quickly. “No, I was definitely born a human!” He spills, words tumbling over each other. “I lived with my mother, and she worked a lot, and she made me tasty burgers and she helped me with my homework sometimes, when she could, and she bought me lots of books and she, and she, she—”

Kaneki’s voice cracks. 

You tilt your head. 

Kaneki takes a sharp breath, and you can see there’s something pushing at the back of his throat, something he tries to swallow back down. His voice drops to a whisper. “Sh-she’s dead.” 

You don’t react. “Sorry.” You say, but you’re not. You never have been. Kaneki is upset, you can see his heart bleeding behind his eyes, but you can’t see why. Kaneki is young, but you’ve fought younger in the arena, and they know what will happen if your knives catch them. Surely he knows. Surely he knew. Death is death, life is life, it’s the one binding rule, and it’s nothing to be afraid of. 

Kaneki nods, numbly. His eyes glaze again, and he sinks back into himself. “I miss her.” 

You nod too, numbly. 

 

*

 

The world ends on a day like any other. 

You stand above a man, short and fat with thick fingers grasping at a heavy open wound, when the sky caves in. 

It’s a solid crack in the arena’s sharply curving tears, sending dust like a fog crashing around you. Screams peel from the stands, blood plastering the walls as inhuman bodies fall over each other, breaking bloody against the plush velvet sides. 

You hold your knife loosely, unfazed. 

Time passes, and the event’s novelty fades. You wonder if the sky, what you can see through the crack in the roof, will pull you up into its endless blue, suck you out into the atmosphere. 

Someone—no—some someones come behind you, and raise their weapons. 

They are talking, loudly, but you can’t hear it over the commotion inside your head. Your ears rings and you heart thumps relentlessly. 

A someone reached out and cups your shoulder with their large palm, and you let your knife clatter to the ground for the first time in your life. 

 

*

 

You ask about a ‘Kaneki Ken’. You describe him. You try to draw a picture. They say he matches a description. They say they’re looking, but they didn’t find any corpse close. 

You don’t ask again. 

 

*

 

Yukinori Shinohara stands with his hands buried in his pockets. His name doesn’t bounce from your tongue, but the ino rhymes and it is certainly better than some other names. You like him, you decided a long time ago. 

He is watching giraffes with you. 

They are funny things, with necks that go up up up and legs that go down down down. You like them, you decided just a while ago. 

“But Juuzou, I would be sad if you died.” 

Your crayon stops. Your eyes fix on the oily marks. You aren’t thinking if you should smudge them, but you’re pretending you are. If you think of a young black-haired boy, the thought doesn’t stay long. 

 

*

 

The ash settles around familiar feet. You know it is him, you knew even with only an eye visible, you knew even though his black hair had bleached white. You had spent so long studying him. 

He is twisted in on himself, limbs shaking and shaking, more than they ever had before. His head shudders downwards, and his knees collapse under him. 

Tears spill into the ground, plink plink plink. 

“I don’t—I don’t want to eat a-anymore.” His head bows like he is praying, face buried in trembling hands. “Kill me.” 

So you do.


End file.
